


I don't want your love (at the weekend)

by nightxshade



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Porn With Plot, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:28:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25409941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightxshade/pseuds/nightxshade
Summary: "He found Sam attractive, that wasn’t news. What hadn’t occurred to him was though that, apparently, this attraction went a bit deeper, than he originally thought. Not that he would do anything about it. This whole situation was problematic as it was. There was no need to make their lives even more complicated  by making a move.".Or the story of how Sam and Rafe ended up making their lives even more complicated  by making a move.
Relationships: Rafe Adler/Samuel Drake
Comments: 6
Kudos: 58
Collections: That Sam/Rafe Fake Dating AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> * barges in three years late with a cold brew and 10k+ fic*  
> Hi you lovely people! Hope nobody will mind me barging in, but I LOVE this AU to bits and I needed to write the (approx) happenings between "Not A Date" and "never (want to) leave this bed" very badly X"D Tried to stay as true to the original works as possible, but maybe some things went off the rails, I don't know...
> 
> Huge thanks to amiyade (who has been kinda roped into this ship despite her best efforts to fend my mania off) for doing the beta-reading and listening to me for hours on end XD  
> And also my deepest thanks to the lovely writers who brought this AU to life ♥♥♥ Thank you all!  
> Enjoy!

‘Sweetie!’ Celia waved at them as Rafe and Sam got out of the car in front of the Adler’s estate. ‘I’m so happy you could make it.’  
‘Mother,’ Rafe greeted her, getting a kiss on his cheek in return.  
‘Samuel, a pleasure as always,’ Celia said turning to him and shaking his hand. Hopefully this was not how she sounded when actually experiencing joy, because her tone was as flat as the Ararat Plain.  
‘Mrs. Adler, nice to see you again.’

The holiday home looked much the same as last time, Sam noted looking around. The Spanish colonial revival style house was striking as ever, nestled in the hillside with its warm earthly tones, the now blooming window boxes only embellishing its welcoming atmosphere. The flowerbeds by the side of the pavement were lush, and the vineyard embraced the living quarters from all sides. Sam took a lungful of the fresh air as he took their bags from the car and hurried after the Adlers up the path. The whole place radiated peace and calm, in stark contrast with the nerves and dread Sam was experiencing.

‘How was the trip?’ Mrs. Adler asked, clearly not paying much attention to Sam anymore as she led them inside.  
‘Mostly boring, as usual. Although not as bad, as when I had to make it alone,’ Rafe added as an afterthought, shooting a barely-there smile at Sam.  
‘Good to hear, sweetie. I’ve let the maid prepare the main bedroom for you two; you can go and refresh yourselves.’  
‘That’s not necessary, we can take one of the other bedrooms–’

‘And what, suffer on a queen sized bed squashed together for two nights? Darling, you are both grown men. Your father is not here, take the main bedroom,’ Celia said rubbing a hand reassuringly down his son’s upper arm. ‘But try to keep it down, the walls aren’t as good at isolating sound as I would like.’  
‘Mother!’  
‘Oh my god…’ Sam muttered, looking pretty pale.  
‘Go and unpack, I shall see you for supper.’  
It was not a request. Celia left, and after some silent staring Rafe took his overnight bag from his “boyfriend’s” hand and led Sam to their room for the weekend.

‘Okay, so…how are we going to…’ Sam cleared his throat nervously as he sat his own bag down beside the armchair, flailing his hands in the general direction of the bed. ‘How are we going to do this?’  
‘How are we going to do what?’  
‘Sleeping?’

Rafe stopped taking his shirts out of his bag. He eyed Sam, then the bed.  
‘Well, you know, you lie down on the mattress and close your eyes…’  
‘Ha, ha, smartass. What if this is a test?’ he whispered, as if discussing some conspiracy. ‘Should I go and sleep on the sofa, like last time?’

Ah, last time. A few weeks after the PTSD-inducing introduction to the parents (and Nadine), Rafe and Sam drove down to the vineyard, on the behest of Celia.  
It should have been the three of them, but surprise, surprise: Mr. Adler _did_ manage to come down to spend the weekend with them. So, main bedroom occupied, Rafe was set up in the (suspiciously only available) guest bedroom and Sam had to spend his nights on the sofa downstairs.  
Mr. Adler must have been extremely thirsty on those two nights. Sam heard him creep down to the kitchen at least on six separate occasions.

Sam himself never actually experienced it, but he thought this must be how dating in high school must have felt like. He was glad, that he took a pass on that. Well, a pass on properly going to high school; not on dating. Luckily, his paramours tended to be out of the age group whose chastity fathers in general would guard with their lives. And shotguns.

At least Rafe’s indignant face as his father banished Sam onto the couch was worth the back pain and slight humiliation. One would think people with this much money would own more comfortable furniture…

‘Test? Samuel, just calm down, alright? It’s all gonna be fine.’  
‘Okay, alright, if you say so. Sooo, which–,’ another nervous cough, ‘–which side do you prefer?’  
‘I prefer to have the _whole_ bed for myself, so feel free to pick one.’  
‘Yeah, okay, cool. Cool.’ Sam babbled, going for the right side. It being closest to the balcony doors might come in handy in case of a smoking emergency…or if he had to jump from said balcony to save his own life…

Rafe squinted at him.

‘Are you nervous?’  
‘What? Me? Nooo, no, no. I’m fine! I need a smoke, I’ll just–’ he motioned between himself and the glass door a few times, then vanished outside. Rafe sighed, debating if he should follow and set things straight or not, but his investment in the success of this weekend won out over his general disgust of his “better half’s” addiction.  
He stepped onto the balcony and repeated his question.

‘Yes, alright?’ Sam barked out. ‘I’m nervous.’  
‘Okay. Why?’  
‘I don’t know? I shouldn’t be. Your father is not here right now and we’ve even dodged the week-long family trip–’  
‘For now…’ Rafe interrupted.  
‘For now, yes. Thanks for reminding me of my impending death. Could you please break up with me, so that I don’t have to spend a whole week trying to impress your family…?’  
‘You don’t have to impress anyone, Samuel…’  
‘Yeah, you say that now–’ Sam took a nervous drag from his cigarette, ‘–but I really do not want to end up in a ditch…’

Rafe groaned, waving smoke away from his face.  
‘For the last time, none of my parents want to kill you…’  
‘So you keep saying. But you cannot refute the fact that they are extremely unhappy about me laying my middle class paws on their son, so…’

‘Sam, calm down. We have three days here; no work, no gossiping upper crust. How about we make the most of it? Have some fun and relax.’  
Sam let out a huge puff of smoke, hopefully along with all his nervous ideas.  
‘Yeah, you’re right. I’ll—’  
Rafe’s phone interrupted them with a soft, but persistent chiming.  
‘I have to take this, I’ll see you inside,’ Rafe announced and strode back into their bedroom, not even waiting for an answer. He barely heard Sam’s outraged ‘You said “no work”!’ through the closing balcony doors.

Dinner was a fairly uneventful affair. Rafe ever so briefly told his mother about his week, while Sam tried to blend into the furniture. Celia in turn told them about a case she had recently read about and brought them up-to-date with recent gossip. Not that any of the men had any interest in the saucy talks of high society, but it was better than the alternative. As long as she was talking, the spotlight wasn’t on them.

The group moved out onto the back patio to enjoy a nice after-dinner glass of wine and the setting sun. The breeze was a warm caress in the fading orange light of the day.  
Mrs. Adler continued to indulge them with her stories as she twirled her chenin blanc.  
‘—and now the younger Campbell girl is getting married too! Would you believe? She only turned twenty last month,’ she tutted, taking a sip from her glass. ‘I hope you don’t plan on surprising us with an engagement party in the near future…’

Sam spat out the wine he tried to enjoy up until that moment. Well, some of it. It would have come off beyond rude, spitting it all over her never-to-be mother-in-law’s garden furniture. Spitting all over himself on the other hand, was less so. Rafe did not share this opinion apparently.

‘Sam.’  
‘Sorry…’  
Rafe shot Sam a nasty side eye and handed over some napkins, before addressing Celia.  
‘Not so long ago you all have been very much concerned with me dying alone. Now, you don’t want me marrying. Make up your mind, mother,’ Rafe berated, tone confident, but his fingers grabbed onto Sam’s shirt tail.  
  
‘I very much do want you to marry, if it would make you happy. If you find the right person.’ Sam very wisely opted to stay out of this confrontation. He mopped up the stray wine droplets on the table, leaned back and tried to vanish behind his glass. He looked out over the grapevines, watching the wind swirl in-between the leaves, right hand slowly reaching down and grasping Rafe’s fingers.

‘It being implied that Sam is _not_ the right person for me, in your opinion…’ Rafe scoffed into his own glass, fingers squeezing back in a silent thank you. Celia’s eyes briefly flickered down, then she answered:  
‘I never said that, sweetie.’  
‘Oh, I know. Hence the “implied” part, but to answer your question mother, no. There won’t be any engagement. Or any wedding for that matter.’

Celia only nodded and silence settled over the table as the orange of the sky slowly bled into pinkish hues. The sun powered garden lamps surrounding the patio turned on one by one in the fading evening light. The crickets starting up their nightly concert made the sullen silence almost comical.

Almost.

Rafe finished his drink and stood, pulling a surprised Sam with himself, who in his panic tried to finish his own wine, almost choking on it mid-gulp.  
‘I will see you in the morning, mother. Have a good night!’ Rafe said and towed Sam off the patio. Poor man barely had the time to call ‘Good night, Mrs. Adler!’ before he was hauled inside the house.  
  


Rafe paced the room as soon as the door closed behind them.  
‘Hey, hey,’ Sam called and stepped up to him, one hand coming up to his shoulder on reflex. ‘Rafe, come on–’  
‘No! I thought after the last “family weekend”, I wouldn’t have to deal with _this_!’ he spat, ‘The weekend, where, might I remind us all, my mother seemed perfectly on board with this whole shit!’

Sam let out a nervous chuckle.

‘I’m sure she is only worried about you…’  
‘Bullshit, Samuel. I’m sure they are up to something.’  
‘Paranoid much?’  
‘Look who is talking. I _know_ my mother and she is…I don’t know, she’s being _odd_ ,’ he said in way of an explanation. ‘If they think that they can make me break up with you, they have another thing coming…’  
‘You realise we aren’t actually going out…?’

Rafe stared at him for a brief second. He looked at Sam as if what he just said was news to him. As if Rafe was not well aware that this all was only a farce.

‘They don’t know that,’ Rafe countered, his face settling back into a frown. ‘What if this was an actual relationship I cared about, huh?’  
‘Yeah, yeah, I get it. Still, don’t let this get to you. They will get over it eventually. Or, you know, you always tell me that you actually like your parents. Talk to them?’  
‘If talking was an option, I wouldn’t be paying you,’ Rafe scoffed.  
‘Alright, alright,’ Sam muttered, backing up. ‘Then I guess we will stick to fake-dating.’

‘I don’t even know what their problem is.’ Rafe rattled on, ignoring Sam. ‘You are a hardworking, honest man— as far as they know, anyway. You have a flat, a motorbike and a job. What objection can they possibly have?’

Sam shrugged. He did not think there was anything wrong with his life. He happened to like it. He said as much and Rafe seemed to share this opinion.  
‘It’s very cute, that you are upset on my behalf,’ Sam teased.  
‘Well, partly on your behalf: you can have forty percent. The other sixty is my own. I know they love me, and I know they want the best for me, but they should fucking stop meddling with my private life.’

Sam hummed, looking down at him with a soft smile. Infuriating, Rafe noted.  
‘And for your information, I’m not cute. I’m using the shower first, just for you insinuating something so absurd.’

Sam’s laughter followed him into the en-suite.

‘…cute…I’m not cute…’ Rafe muttered to himself as he quickly threw his clothes into the hamper. Most people described him as barely tolerable, calculating and demanding. Never cute. How dare Sam...make him feel...things?

Taking him to not-dates and calling him cute and running around in those stupid wife-beaters. Appalling, really. Rafe definitely did not imagine how it could feel to peel him out of that stupid top and trail his nails down his torso…

‘Nope. Not going there…’ Rafe told himself as he started the shower.

The sound of running water was a welcome white noise. It was something he could focus on and stop thinking. He wished he could wash all his worries away, let his thoughts run down the drain and get rid of them all. Especially the weird, butterfly like stirring in his stomach. Maybe this whole fake dating business was starting to mess with his head...

He found Sam attractive, that wasn’t news. What hadn’t occurred to him was though that, apparently, this attraction went a bit deeper, than he originally thought. Not that he would do anything about it. This whole situation was problematic as it was. There was no need to make their lives even more complicated by making a move.

No. Definitely not.

He wished he could just go out somewhere, have a scotch or two, pick up someone and relieve all this pent up _want_. Forget all about his failed love life and his meddling parents and his apparent inclination towards wanting to sleep with his not-boyfriend.

Or maybe…

Maybe he could get rid of some of that frustration right now…

No. Feeding that particular line of thought would be a colossal mistake. His fingers still slowed, caressing his skin under the hot spray. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. His body seemed to have a different opinion though, hands trailing down as he shuffled even more under the showerhead. Not that it helped much, but he wasn’t about to go and drag Sam in there with him for a– a whatever.

He focused very hard on not imagining Samuel in the shower. How his skin would look, water running down his muscles. How he would push Rafe up against the tiles and kiss him with passion. Then flip him, chest pressed to his back as Rafe would try to get a hold on the slippery shower wall. How Sam’s palms would feel sneaking around his torso.

They held hands a few times. Rafe remembered how rough they were. Not unappealingly so, but his own skin felt too smooth as he wrapped his fingers around his growing erection.

A sigh broke out of him. Finally.

How long has it been, since he had the luxury of time or even the energy to indulge, he wondered briefly, but that line of thought got swept up in his fantasy as quickly as it came.

He caressed his shaft lazily at first, falling back into his imagined shower-tryst, despite all the promises he made to himself _not_ to, then started moving his hand in earnest. He imagined Sam kiss up his neck and moan his name. Press their bodies close, the hand on Rafe’s chest bordering on painful. He could see Sam groan and bite down on his shoulder, as his hand sped up, bringing Rafe closer to completion with each stroke; his own erection slipping between Rafe’s cheeks with undulating thrusts.

He was close; so close. He just needed…a bit more…a bit more…

…banging on the bathroom door…

‘Hey, leave some hot water for me too, will you?’ He heard Sam laugh at the other side of the door. Rafe waited, listening. He could hear Sam rummage somewhere in the room and then the balcony door opened and closed.

‘Shit.’

Rafe stroked himself a few times, but it just felt off. The moment was apparently gone.

‘Shit, shit, shit,’ he keened, forehead bumping the shower wall. He was now more wound up and frustrated than before. He groaned, congratulating himself on his stellar life choices and scrubbed himself clean as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Maybe it was better this way. He wasn’t sure he could look his not-boyfriend in the eyes in the coming 24 hours if he actually had an orgasm while fantasising about him. Rafe sighed rubbing himself dry.  
So, this is what a slippery slope felt like…

Rafe was not wrong about one thing. The bed _was_ big enough, naturally. They comfortably settled in for the night. Sam was engrossed in a book, while Rafe checked his work email, purely operating on muscle memory.  
There never was much to do on regular nights. Before meeting Sam he spent his evenings at home, working. Sometimes catching a movie or reading a book. Meeting up with Nadine when their schedules allowed. Nothing exciting.

After that though…

Some nights he would just go over to Sam’s place to hang out.  
Now that he thought about it, there were _quite_ a few times in the past year, when he drove over to his apartment on a whim, only to have a few drinks and talk, or watch him work.

Then this whole stupid boyfriend thing got out of hand and he found himself on more charity balls and gatherings then he could or want to keep count of.

Adding all these up, Rafe realised that he _did_ spend an awful lot of his free time with Sam. He has been, even before this whole arrangement started, it seemed. He tried to steer his thoughts in another direction. If there was something he did not want to dissect and analyse, then this new revelation was on top of that list.

He looked back down at his phone, his finger hovering over the small “reply” icon, needing to do something with himself. But he promised he would not work on this trip, so he postponed answering them until Monday and set his phone face first onto the bedside table. Then immediately regretted it. Sleep would not come; he could feel it. He could try and find something to watch, but he wasn’t really in the mood for anything. Plus, he did not want to disturb Sam in his reading. Rafe fidgeted with the edge of their shared duvet. Maybe he should have brought a book himself.

But he did not, so after a few starts he finally asked Sam.  
‘So, what are you reading?’  
Sam perked up, beaming at Rafe.

‘Oh, you’ll love this! “ _A General History of the Robberies & Murders of the Most Notorious Pirates_”,’ he announced in the world’s worst fake-seaman voice, showing off the cover briefly. ‘Well, it’s more like a general history of made up shit. But somehow I always liked this book, ever since I was a kid. Did you know that even the author’s name is a fake?’

If anything, this was such a pure Sam-thing all-in-all, that Rafe could not help the upward curl to his lips. He looked so excited over Rafe being interested, or maybe because he could talk about pirates. Rafe did not really know, but he also did not really care. He fluffed his pillow and settled in, eyes boring into Sam’s.  
‘I did not. Please, continue.’  
And Sam did. Rafe listened to the wondrous retellings of wildly inaccurate historical “facts” and battling ships and hidden treasures in Sam’s soft tone until ever so slowly, sleep finally claimed him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit hits the fan...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two down, one more to go!  
> Huge thanks to amiyade for beta-reading, as per usual ♥  
> Enjoy guys! ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

The morning arrived with mild weather and a light breeze. The rays filtered through the canopy of the solitary oak tree by the window, painting playful patterns onto the sheer curtains of the bedroom. Although the warmth of it felt nice on his skin, Rafe sleepily buried his face to avoid getting blinded through his eyelids.

The world shrank to the safety and warmth of the cocoon of the bedding. It was in stark contrast to his usual mornings that consisted of cold high thread-count sheets and hot coffees. A typical morning also did not feature his cheek being plastered to a firm expanse of a back; nor his arms being around a muscular chest. He should have lifted his head back on his pillow and pulled his arms back. He should have stopped snuggling his very fake boyfriend.

Should have.

He didn’t though, his sleep fogged mind chasing that nowadays rarely achieved feel of being content. Rafe didn’t even notice how his hands started to subtly wander, only Sam’s flimsy undershirt keeping him from touching skin. Wasn’t really aware how he huddled closer on instinct, their bodies flush from head to toe. ~~~~

His hips jerked forward on their own accord.  
Rafe froze.  
Sam’s back rippled with a chuckle.

‘I’m charging extra for that,’ he said, voice warm and drowsy from sleep.

Rafe let go as if burned and fumbled his way out of the bed as fast as he could. He looked anywhere but Sam, trying to get his body and his thoughts under control.

‘That’s not funny.’  
Sam turned towards him with a frown. ‘What…?’  
‘You implying that I need to pay somebody to sleep with me,’ Rafe huffed, his morning bliss fading with every second he stood fidgeting by the bed.  
‘You know it’s not what I meant.’  
‘Oh, isn’t it?’  
‘It isn’t,’ Sam firmly answered. He moved into the space Rafe vacated seconds ago, sitting barely awake at the edge of the mattress. He reached for Rafe’s fingers worrying the hem of his t-shirt. Rafe whipped around, purposefully lifting his hand out of reach.

‘Well, good. It’s embarrassing enough that I have to pay you to have fake feelings for me. I wouldn’t want to pay you to have to fake some orgasms as well.’  
‘Jesus, Rafe,’ Sam cried, rubbing a palm over his face. ‘It was just a joke, what crawled up your butt?’  
‘Well, not you.’  
‘Thank god for that,’ Sam murmured.  
‘What was that?’  
‘Nothing,’ Sam said peeling himself out of the bedding, making for the bathroom.

This was the perfect out. This was where Rafe should have shut his mouth, tucked his issues away and preferably left the room, before he ended up with his foot in his mouth.  
Should have.  
For a second time since he woke, he did not.

‘Didn’t sound like nothing.’  
‘Rafe, would you chill out? I only tried to be funny. I don’t want to sleep with you.’  
‘Oh, don’t I know it,’ Rafe huffed. His mouth kept going and as if in a slow motion tragedy, he watched hurt flash over Sam’s face before it settled into dull coldness, as the next words left Rafe’s lips. ‘Apparently nobody does! Otherwise we wouldn’t be here, with me paying a fuckin’ business associate to play house with me!’

‘Wow.’ 

‘Sam, I—‘

The closing of the bathroom door never sounded so dreadful.

Breakfast was a silent affair. Silent as in, Rafe standing alone in the kitchen with a sandwich kind of silent. His mother apparently went off to check how the works on one thing or another were going. Something about a new vine cellar…? Rafe could not be bothered listening to the specifics, he was too pre-occupied with his silent brooding. He went back to their room after some aimless wandering downstairs, but Sam was nowhere to be found. According to their housekeeper he was reading outside somewhere, stuffing his face with things he pillaged from the fridge.

Apparently the punishment for his morning outburst was alone-sandwich-time. He could deal with that. What he could not (very obviously) deal with was the sudden urge to bone his partner in crime. Alright, not so sudden.

Leaning on the kitchen counter, all alone, did not help with that particular line of thought. At least if his mother was here, her idle chatter or her hidden jabs at his relationship would keep his mind occupied. Well, not occupied, but pleasantly blank.

Sam could definitely distract him in more ways than one... His treacherous brain of course instantly brought up images of broad shoulders and a wide chest and cheeky smiles. Rafe groaned into his last bite. He knew that’s not all that was to Samuel. He very much appreciated the impromptu history lessons, and talks over beer and how Sam bitched about incorrect things in movies and...

‘Shut up,’ Rafe muttered to himself, busying himself with his empty plate, trying to herd his thoughts to safer pastures. Rafe knew, in theory, that he should have apologised to Sam. That would have been the least he could do. It would have been the decent way to go.

Really, how hard was it to say, ‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a dickhead.’? Apparently very, at least for Rafe, because lunch time was nearing and he was still skulking about his own family’s holiday home.

He perused the books on the shelves in the living room, trying, and failing to find anything that could distract him. He was disinterestedly flipping through a very boring looking Hemingway anthology or other, when his mother called him to inform him that she had to “pop in to town” and “would probably be back for dinner”. She then told him to “enjoy his day with his boyfriend”, before hanging up.

Yeah, like that would happen, Rafe thought to himself as he crammed the book back in its place, or well, the general vicinity of it, and plopped down on the couch. What was the point of coming down here when all his mother did was undermine his non-existent relationship and then vanish for a whole day? Or maybe this was her plan all along…but what would be the point of that?

You’re being paranoid; Sam’s voice rang clear in his head.

And maybe Sam’s voice was right. He was overthinking it. He looked about the room, contemplating what to do with all this sudden spare time, but came up empty. So, against his better judgement and despite his self-inflicted no-work-rule; he unlocked his phone and started replying to his emails.

Ten minutes well spent, but now he was back to square one. He could go and work out for a bit, he thought. Maybe go for a swim… Or go and apologise to Sam; his brain supplied. Rafe groaned. He should. He really should. Man up and say sorry.

A loud growl interrupted him. It gave him an idea and he set off for the kitchen. He could pack up some of the food that was made for lunch and bring it to Sam as a peace offering. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, or something along those lines…  
Not that Rafe could claim making the food he wanted to bribe Samuel with. Nor did he want to get through to his heart, for that matter– and he was overthinking again.

He dashed into the kitchen and found himself face to face with his foiled plan. Well, he found himself face to face with Sam, being all chummy with their cook.  
‘--cumin, you say? Wow, I never would have thought.’  
‘Just my little twist,’ the cook smiled at Sam as he took another bite of the pastry in his hand in awe, as if he never had one before in his life.  
Rafe stared at him. It registered in his mind that a question was directed at him, but the words did not come through.

‘Sorry?’  
‘I said, hello, darling. What brings you here?’  
‘Oh, yes. I wanted to bring you some lunch, but…’ Rafe trailed off, looking at the empty plates at Sam’s elbow.  
‘Yeah, sorry, already done. It is very hard to say no to Rosita’s cooking,’ Sam answered with a grin, then shot a wink the cook’s way. Rosita rolled her eyes, lips quirking upwards.  
Rafe nodded and turned to go, but the cook’s voice (and gentle touch at the elbow) stopped him.  
‘Now, now, young master; where do you think you are going? Dinner is still a good few hours away! Here,’ she said, ladling the amazing smelling chilli into a bowl. Rafe did not even try to protest; he had a good fifteen years of practice of this dance. There was no point in trying to say no to her.  
Besides, Rafe liked Rosita and not even his sour mood could make him hurt her feelings.  
‘Eat up! I have some shopping to do for supper,’ she said, pushing a spoon at Rafe and left.

‘Nice woman,’ Sam noted, grabbing a few more pastries. Rafe hummed in agreement. Silence settled over the kitchen. Rafe kept shovelling food into his mouth. Sam idled, feet shuffling on the ochre coloured tiles. Then stuffed a pastry into his mouth and turned to leave.  
‘Samuel, wait!’  
Sam did, turning back around, eagerly chewing and waiting. As Rafe tried to find his words, Sam impatiently lifted one eyebrow.  
‘I’m sorry.’  
Sam waited some more. Rafe kept silent.  
‘That’s it? That’s all you wanna say?’  
Rafe looked at him, confused.  
‘Yes…?’  
‘Wow, okay,’ he said and left. Rafe kept staring at his chilli as if it would tell him what he just did wrong.

There was no Samuel, no more emails to answer and nothing much to do, so he trudged back upstairs after finishing his lunch and flopped down on the bed (definitely not sulking). The room was cool and silent, the curtains closed, fluttering in the breeze occasionally. Rafe wasn’t planning on falling asleep, but his stomach was full, the bedding soft and welcoming. The sounds of nature low key filtered in through the open window. It was almost idyllic. He was going to close his eyes for a few minutes…just a few minutes…

A knock on his bedroom door roused Rafe from his dozing. He looked around blearily. The light of the setting sun barely illuminated the room. Well, so much for not falling asleep, he thought bitterly.  
Another knock came from the door.

‘Coming…’, Rafe muttered, sauntering through the room in the waning light. The maid was waiting patiently on the other side.  
‘Mrs. Adler has returned and would like to inform you that dinner is being served out on the patio, Mr. Adler.’  
‘Thank you, I’ll be along soon,’ Rafe answered. The maid nodded and left.

Rafe scrubbed at his face. The nap left a weird taste in his mouth, both literally and metaphorically speaking. He could do something about one of those, he thought and went into the bathroom.

Rafe sauntered out on the patio not ten minutes later. He faltered a bit, as both his mother and Samuel seemed to be already sitting there, engaged in a quiet chat over what seemed to be glasses of white wine. Well, that was new…  
He shot them a hello and a smile as he sat down. Samuel was already pouring a glass for him, with an answering twitch of his lips. It looked as fake, as it was brisk. Celia looked at his son, one masterfully sculpted eyebrow rising, mouth poised to speak. Rafe did not know if, or what she wanted to ask, but he was probably not willing to answer it right now anyway. So, he pounced before his mother could.

‘How was your day, mother?’  
‘A disaster sweetie, a disaster.’ She then told them in detail how the pavilion works ran into some difficulties, as the mouth-watering turbot dish was set up on the table, and continued regaling them with her adventures in town and how she had to threaten someone with a lawsuit to get things rolling.  
Rafe was glad all her tales of the day lasted until dessert was placed before them. He could keep mindlessly shuffling food into his mouth and nod and hum at the appropriate times in between mouthfuls of fish and salad. Celia’s motherly instinct must have been picking up on his mood, for she broke the silence with a question to Sam.

‘And how did you spend your day, Samuel?’ she asked, placing a delicate spoonful of raspberry sorbet between her lips. Her lipstick was frighteningly on point, despite the late hour. Her mother was a fearsome individual on so many fronts, Rafe noted as he rummaged around in the dainty glass bowl in front of him.  
‘Mostly reading out in the garden. It’s kind of a rare occurrence for me to have this much quiet and the weather was nice, so...Thank you for inviting me down.’  
‘Not a problem. I did promise the two of you a peaceful weekend here when we first met and that last getaway was a bit…tense, I must admit.’ Both men flinched at the mention of the first weekend. Calling it “tense” was an understatement. ‘And what have you been reading, if I might ask?’

Sam gulped down the last of his sorbet.

‘Books about pirates. Specifically, from the golden age of piracy. Probably not really your cup of tea, ma’am,’ he sheepishly answered.  
‘Oh, on the contrary! I cannot claim to know much of that period, but it does sound exciting. Care to tell me a tale?’  
Sam fidgeted in his seat, obviously torn between wanting to jump into a passionate history lecture, while very much wishing to vanish from this table as soon as possible.  
‘Maybe something about your favourite pirate,’ she nudged. Her spoon clinked in the sorbet bowl and she picked up her wine glass, waiting.  
‘That-’ Sam nervously cleared his throat, and made another attempt of not making a fool out of himself in front of Rafe’s mother. ‘That would be Avery. Henry Avery. He was an English pirate at the end of the 17th century, though he, not surprisingly, started out as first mate on the Charles II. So, one time the ship’s owner failed to pay their wages and the crew mutinied. And to nobody’s surprise, Avery was chosen as the new captain. The ship was renamed the Fancy and Avery—‘

Rafe sipped at his wine. The words started to entwine with the crickets’ chirping on the hillside and the flower beds; coalescing into a hypnotic mesh of sounds, bringing Rafe back to last night. He could almost feel the soft sheets under his back and see Sam’s profile burned into his eyelids, as he read passages from that horrid, fake pirate book.  
The thought of spending his every night in the same fashion slithered into his brain; Sam on the other side of the bed, his voice sleep-laden and smooth…

No. Rafe shook his head minutely, the tendrils of his absurd daydream dissipating into nothingness before his mind’s eye. He gulped down the wine he was nursing up till now and noticed two pairs of eyes watching him intently.

‘Sorry?’  
‘Everything okay?’ Sam asked with a smirk.  
‘Yes…’ Rafe said, reaching for the decanter and re-filled his glass. Sam emptied his own, but before Rafe could very courteously top it up as well, Samuel stood.  
‘If you would excuse me, I think I’ll retire for the night. Thank you for the lovely dinner, and the chat. Have a good night, Mrs. Adler.’  
‘The pleasure was all mine.’ Celia bid him a good night with a nod. Sam squeezed his “boyfriend’s” shoulder in passing and vanished through the glass doors.

Silence settled over the table, as both Adlers looked out into the garden, its greenery a blur of leaves in the fading lights of the early night sky. Wine swirled in their glasses.

‘Did he do something?’ Celia’s voice was sharp in the silence. Rafe blinked. Oh, here we go, he thought before curtly answering ‘…no…’.  
‘Not too convincing, sweetie.’  
‘Samuel did not do anything, mother. Better?’  
‘No need to get snappy,’ Celia warned, taking a sip of the sauvignon blanc. Rafe sighed, exasperated with the whole day at that point.  
‘Sorry. But it’s nothing, really.’  
‘You were spaced out ever since you came down, sweetie. And Samuel looked…miserable.’

Rafe huffed, eyes on the table, but the slowly melting remains of his sorbet did not come to his rescue.

‘We- we had a spat this morning.’ Celia lifted an eyebrow. ‘Alright, I chewed him out in the morning over something stupid, that wasn’t even his fault,’ Rafe confessed. Wow, it sounded even more foolish now, admitting it out loud.  
‘And you apologised, I hope…’  
Rafe thought about the half-hearted sorry he mumbled into his bowl of chili all those hours ago and felt like he did not really…

‘Rafe…?’  
‘Well, I did? Kind of?’  
‘Define “kind of”,’ Celia prodded.  
‘What is this new-found investment in my love life?’  
‘I am invested in you being happy, sweetie. Always.’  
‘Could have fooled me with that hot and cold act you’re pulling, whenever Sam is around,’ Rafe muttered.

He couldn’t help it. He was fed up with not being able to make anything of his parents’ behaviour, with being lonely, but first and foremost he was fed up with his own stupidity. ‘One moment you’re all interested and in the next, every word is another jab at our relationship.’

Celia sighed.

‘I don’t have anything against Samuel. It’s just… he is not the type you envision your child ending up with. He is not the type I envisioned _you_ ending up with. As much as I would like to shelter you and save you from some decision—It’s not how life works.’

Rafe softly huffed at that. There were plenty of decisions his parents made for him back then. Schools, hobbies, the family business…  
It wasn’t all bad. But he drew the line at meddling in his private affairs.

‘When you first introduced us, I was a bit disbelieving, to be honest. But the way you look at each other…it made me realise that this is happening.’  
Rafe was glad he was intently listening to his mother’s explanation and not drinking, because he sure would have spat the wine all over the patio. “The way they look at each other”? Rafe had hoped they were pulling off being in love convincingly, but his mother made it sound like Rafe has just found The One.  
‘It is happening…’ Rafe answered, not at all certain what “it” was. Celia smiled at him.  
‘Good. I don’t know him as well as you do, sweetie, but he seems a decent man, so… In the future, I’ll try not to make my problems yours.’  
The sincerity of her tone made Rafe put all his crazy theories and paranoid thoughts to rest. At least regarding his mother. His father, well, that was another story.

‘So, did you apologise, or not?’  
‘I accidentally ran into him in the kitchen and said how I was sorry for that morning.’  
‘That was all?’  
‘What is wrong with that?’ Rafe lifted his arms in his confusion. ‘Samuel asked the same question and then left.’  
‘Oh, sweetie,’ his mother tutted. ‘I don’t know what you did, and please, spare me the details, but as I see it, a bare “sorry” in the middle of the kitchen won’t do in this case.’

Rafe huffed. He definitely would not tell her the details. He was not, nor would ever be in the mood to talk to his own mother about how he wanted to be bent over the nearest surface by his not-boyfriend and fucked within an inch of his life. Or vice-versa. Or about how he was very pissed off by this exact fact.

‘Then what, mother? Should I send him a written apology?’  
‘Don’t be an idiot, sweetie. He seemed more sad, than mad to me. Talk to him. Properly, this time. Tell him why you did what you did and said.’

Rafe rolled his eyes, finishing his glass. Celia let that one slide with a slight shake of her head and a smile.

‘I know mother. You’re right, I’m just...today was very tiring…I apologise.’  
‘Apology accepted. You might want to get upstairs. I would hate for you to miss your chance at making up.’  
‘Me too…’

Rafe rounded the table and pressed a kiss to Celia’s cheek, as they both said their good nights.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All's well that ends well  
> a.k.a. the porny bit (。•̀ᴗ-)✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is finished! Yay! *confetti canon*  
> Huge thanks, as usual, to amiyade, for beta-reading and listening to me gripe about these idiots for hours and hours. ♥♥♥  
> Enjoy!

To no one’s surprise, Rafe found Samuel out on the balcony, smoking.

Leaning on the balustrade, all casual; the wind playing with the collar of his horribly patterned shirt and the smoke swirling around him. Like a detective in a fifties movie. Rafe felt thrown back to the fitting room of “Wilson and Sons” as his eyes zoomed in on Sam’s pecs. His step faltered in the doorway at the memory of that blasted shirt pulling tight across Samuel’s chest and leaving nothing to the imagination.

‘Hi.’  
‘Hey…’ Sam answered off-handed as he put out his cigarette and moved for the door.

Rafe was usually not the nervous kind. He wouldn’t be a very good asset to his father’s business a blundering, sweaty mess. Right now though, the twenty-five year old Glenlivet almost slipped from his grasp as he back-stepped, trying to block the entryway.

He wanted nothing more but to get out of the way and not have this talk. But that was not an option, so he stood his ground. Sam was so very, very close as he refused to back off too, standing there, only the bottle of scotch keeping their chests from touching.

‘Do you mind?’  
‘We need to talk.’  
‘”We”?’  
‘ _I_ need to talk to you, then,’ Rafe corrected, then blurted. ‘One glass! Hear me out, please.’

Sam searched his eyes with indifference in his own and nodded. Another cigarette was lit as he took up his previous spot by the railing. Rafe scrunched his nose up as he went up to him. No matter how many cigarettes Sam smoked in his vicinity, he still hated it. Well, for the most part. The lingering smell of it started to feel…homely… for lack of a better word.

He poured them two fingers each and really hoped Sam won’t just knock the whole glass back and leave out of spite.  
Sam didn’t. He took the glass and waited. Rafe had a hunch, he wouldn’t wait for too long though, so he started talking.

‘I want to apologise. Properly, this time.’  
‘I’m all ears.’  
Rafe took a fortifying breath.  
‘I was an ass this morning. It’s not an excuse, but a whole lot’s been happening lately and I was overthinking some things and—By the time you woke up I was frustrated with everything and I snapped.’ Rafe took a quick gulp of liquid courage. ‘It was unfair, because it wasn’t really your fault and I had no right to say the things I said. I didn’t mean any of it, believe me. I’m sorry, Sam.’

Sam only scoffed into his glass in answer, knocking the remainder of the whiskey back.

‘Hey, I know I’m not Nadine, but I thought—’ Sam paused there; his face crunching up as he thought of his next words. Then shook his head with a grim smile. ‘You know what? Never mind. I want out.’

The tumbler nearly slipped from Rafe’s grasp as he broke out in cold sweat.

‘Wh- what?’  
‘I’m out. I’ll be a doting boyfriend until we leave here and then you can wire me the rest of the money and think up a story of how we amicably parted ways.’

Rafe couldn’t help but gape, words failing him all together. At least he managed to put his glass down on the ledge of the railing.

‘Why? I just apologised!’  
‘Yeah. Apology accepted and you’re welcome to come and seek me out during _business_ hours if you have a job for me.’  
Rafe has never seen anyone put out a cigarette stub so aggressively before.  
‘I’ve told you that I didn’t mean any of that!’

Sam shushed him, before Rafe could continue shy of shouting his innermost thoughts at him and possibly the whole vineyard. Getting busted because he couldn’t control himself would be an epically stupid end to this whole charade. If his parents found out… he wouldn’t even want to think about the consequences. So, he continued in a softer voice.

‘I don’t know why I said those things, okay?’  
‘I have an inkling. I’m obviously as important to you as any suit you ever had a business dealing with.’  
‘Oh, Jesus, Sam, come on…’ Rafe groaned, rubbing at his temple. ‘Why are you so hung up about that part?’

Sam kept staring at him.

‘Because I thought this was more, than you throwing money at me, so you can continue your careless bachelor life. Turns out, I was an idiot.’  
‘In that case, you are an idiot, because I’ve been telling you this is more.’  
‘You are not very good at this apology thing, are you?’

Rafe huffed. He was trying his fucking best here, thank you very much. What more could he do to make Sam believe him? The whiskey was gone. There was not much time left. Rafe needed to think quick.

‘You need proof? Okay, how about this. I hang out with you outside of _this_ , a lot. We watch movies together on your shitty couch, and I drink that cheap swill you call beer. Do you think I do any of these things with anybody else, than you and Nadine? I don’t need to spend time at your flat and listen to you ramble about historical facts to keep hiring your services.’

‘Anything else you wanna insult with your apology?’  
‘Those are facts. I never said that I did not enjoy all those things…’  
‘And do you?’  
‘Yes,’ Rafe answered firmly, eyes boring into Sam’s. ‘I do.’  
There was a slight quirk to Sam’s lips at that. He took the Glenlivet and re-filled their glasses.

Rafe breathed a bit easier.

‘Look, I know we started out weird, and I know I’m not exactly over-furnished in the friends department—’ Rafe inwardly huffed at his own statement. There was no use kidding himself; it was basically Nadine and Sam. ‘—but I’d like to think you are one of them.’   
He didn’t have the guts to look up, so he waited, eyes trained on the whiskey in the tumbler. There was the click of a lighter and the swirling smoke filled the night air.

‘Me too,’ Sam finally said.  
‘Okay, good,’ Rafe breathed and wagered a peak at his not-boyfriends face. There was a smirk. ‘So, are we okay…?’  
‘Yeah,’ Sam held his glass out. Rafe clinked his own to it with a lopsided smile.  
‘There’s just one last thing. I’d really like to know what got you so riled up.’  
‘I don’t really want to talk about it…’  
‘Well, I still think you should. If not with me,’ Sam smirked here, ‘then there’s always Nadine…’

Rafe paled. That would go over well. “Hi, my childhood best friend, I have a problem, my boyfriend isn’t actually my boyfriend, but I still wanna fuck him real bad. Thoughts?”   
Telling Nadine would equal a death sentence. Telling Sam on the other hand could ruin everything.

‘I’m just getting frustrated, I guess. Everything’s either work or time spent with you and I haven’t…had the time recently to—’ Rafe trailed off, leaving Sam to fill in the blanks for himself. It took him a hot minute.  
‘Awww, what? Neglecting your right hand this young?’ Sam laughed.  
‘Samuel.’  
‘Okay, sorry. But—You know, you could always pick up somebody and—’  
‘No, I could not. I’m not gonna risk this operation for a fuckin’ one night stand.’  
‘Well, how about you come over to my place with whoever you like and I skip down to a bar or something for an hour…’  
‘Sam!’ Rafe cried. The intoxicating burn of the alcohol was very welcome as he slammed back the contents of his tumbler.  
‘Okay, alright. Shutting up. Was tryna help and all…’

Their glasses got another re-fill and they had a few sips in companionable silence. The crickets chirping, the starry sky above them, the light breeze, the immense relief. It was all nice. Rafe started to enjoy it, but then Sam piped up.

‘How about an escort then? Those are discreet.’  
‘Sam, oh my god— just, drop it, alright? I promise you, I won’t behave like an asshole again, just because I’m not getting any. Scout’s honour.’  
‘You’ve been a scout?’  
‘Of course I have not,’ Rafe rolled his eyes  
‘Figures… But, you know, I feel ya.’  
‘You feel what now?’ Rafe asked, studiously looking into his glass.

‘Frustration.’ Sam said, putting his glass down. ‘The craving,’ he continued, rounding him. ‘ _Want._ ’ The last part was almost purred into his ear, Sam’s palms heavy on his shoulders. Rafe nearly dropped his whiskey a second time that evening.  
‘What are you–?’

Sam thankfully plucked the glass from his slack grasp instead of answering. Heat spread over Rafe’s back and a wave of cold ran all over his skin, as Sam pushed their bodies together. Samuel’s arms came up around his midriff as he placed Rafe’s tumbler next to his own.

Rafe saw red. He threw off the arms almost embracing him and stormed inside. Sam was hot on his heels.

‘Would you save us both the headache and use your words?’ Sam asked, closing the balcony door after them.  
‘How are these for words: I don't need a—a pity-fuck!’ Rafe hissed.  
‘Pity– Rafe for god’s sake, that’s not what I was going for.’  
‘Then what?’  
‘You can’t get laid, I can’t get laid; it’s not so difficult to put two and two together…’ Sam said, fingers itching towards his smokes in his pocket, but fell back to his sides after a second of fidgeting. ‘But if I’m not your type, you could just say so, you know…’

‘I didn’t say that…’ Rafe muttered. Then, his brain caught up. ‘Wait, what do you mean you can’t get laid?’  
‘You wound me. I’m spoken for,’ Sam grinned stepping closer.   
‘You aren’t though…’   
‘I know. And I also know, that this world is too goddamn small. We don’t move about in the same circles, but I was not gonna risk somebody catching me “cheating on you” by accident.’

‘You are just afraid that Nadine would emasculate you, if you happened to break my heart,’ Rafe grinned.  
‘Well, that too.’ Sam gulped. ‘But I meant what I said. We are friends, and I wouldn’t sabotage “Operation Get-the-parents-off-Rafe’s-back” for a quick lay.‘

The fluttering feeling in his chest made Rafe open and close his mouth, before he could speak.  
‘How very noble of you.’ At Sam’s dubiously lifted eyebrow, he continued. ‘Sam. I mean it. Thank you.’

Rafe stepped up to him; chest to chest, and before he could think about it too much, he kissed Sam. It somehow felt much more than the simple press of lips it actually was.

‘Hello.’ Sam said a bit taken aback, even though he initiated things not even a minute ago. ‘So, are we adding “mutually beneficial orgasms” to our little deal then? No extra charge, of course.’

Rafe groaned and pushed him in the direction of their bed.  
‘Shut up before I change my mind.’  
‘Shutting up,’ Sam grinned at him, then circled his arms around Rafe’s waist, falling back on the mattress bringing them both down.

The kiss, well, the kiss was nothing new. Sam’s lips felt the same, the taste of cigarettes barely masked by the remains of whiskey. It started out as any they shared before. Soft presses, light nips, Sam’s tongue pressing between his lips. Then Sam moaned Rafe’s name into his mouth, and everything turned into a frenzy.

Sam licked into his mouth, hands coming up around Rafe’s nape, not letting him up for even a breath. Rafe gave as good as he got, hands flying to Sam’s shirt buttons, fingers clumsy in the tights space between their bodies.

‘Wait, wait, wait.’ Sam sat up and grabbed Rafe’s shirt, pulling it off over his head before chucking his own ridiculously patterned monstrosity on the floor.

Rafe stared at the stupid wife-beater stretching over Sam’s torso.

‘What?’  
‘Nothing, I’m just having a love-hate relationship with your fashion choices.’  
‘Are you now?’ Sam asked as he was pushed back on the bed, Rafe straddling him.

Rafe only hummed in answer, fingers splaying over Sam’s chest, making their way down, fingertips dipping under the hem of the top.   
‘You have no right looking this good in them,’ Rafe said, pushing the garment up to Sam’s armpits, nails trailing down and palms coming back up over Sam’s ribs. ‘But they are also ludicrous,’ Rafe noted, eyes boring into Sam’s as his thumbs circled his nipples.  
‘Better take it off then,’ Sam offered with a moan. Rafe agreed and left off tormenting his partner. At least for as long as he peeled the offending vest off his body.

He might have been better off leaving the wife-beater where it was. Faced with the full expanse of Sam’s chest, the imagined scenes from last night’s shower resurfaced with a vigour. Rafe could feel the blush creep up his neck as snippets from his fantasy played in front of his mind’s eye.

Sam took his face between his palms, thumbs caressing his no doubt red tinged cheeks.  
‘What’s got you blushing, babe?’ Sam asked with a crinkle to his eyes.  
That pet name alone shouldn’t make him feel all tingly and blush even more, but Rafe could feel something hot bloom in his chest and his cheeks heating up.

‘I– nothing…’  
‘Come on, indulge me,’ Sam encouraged in between kisses.  
‘It’s just…I was thinking about you last night…’

Something flashed in Sam’s eyes and Rafe found himself back flush to the mattress in the next second, Sam’s weight pushing him into the bedding, lips locked in a filthy kiss.   
‘Were you now…’ Sam changed his focus on his neck, licking and nipping at the skin there as fingers dealt with buttons and zips and in a few moments, Rafe lay there naked and dazed. Sam got rid of his own trousers and was on top of him again in a flash.

‘See, I was thinking you were taking way too long in the shower yesterday,’ Sam grinned down at him. He got a punch in the shoulder for his trouble. Sam laughed it off, bringing their mouths close together, but no kiss was coming.  
‘You know, I think that’s fucking _hot_ ,’ he said, lips brushing. He kissed his way over Rafe’s cheek, then muttered ‘And what was I doing, hm?’ into his ears.  
Rafe’s initial answer was a moan, as Sam slipped lower and bit his neck playfully.  
‘Rafe…’  
‘This— This, but you were behind me…’

Sam hummed, biting lightly down Rafe’s collarbone, then flopped down to the left and pulled Rafe’s back to his chest.  
‘Like this?’   
Rafe could feel the obnoxious grin on his skin.  
‘Yes…’  
‘And what else?’  
‘I thought about– ‘ Rafe started, but whatever he wanted to say next turned into a moan as Sam bit and kissed him where his neck and shoulder met, palm pressed possessively to his chest. ‘I thought about you touching me.’  
‘Here?’ he asked, fingers massaging his chest. Rafe moaned when Sam’s thumb started rubbing over his nipple.  
‘Sam…lower…’ Sam slid his hand down to Rafe’s stomach.  
‘Here…?’ he asked again, his amusement plain in his voice.  
‘…Sam…’  
He slid his palm over Rafe’s hip and started drawing idle patterns on his thigh. ‘Here?’  
‘Samuel, if you don’t put your hand on my dick in the next two seconds, I swear to god…!’

Sam did. It felt kinda like how Rafe imagined it would. Big and hot and rough and confident. So, Rafe let go of everything for a minute and let Sam jerk him off with steady strokes and pepper every available inch of skin with kisses and bites.  
He would be more than happy to take the reins, but for now he only wanted to be taken care of. It has been ages since anybody touched him with the single minded focus Sam was touching him now. Or since anybody touched him at all…

Sam kept an ever growing rhythm of rolling his hips into Rafe’s backside, his dick sliding up and down the cleft. Rafe reached back around, fingers flexing and kneading Sam’s ass, pulling him close.  
Sam’s hips stuttered, fingers sliding down Rafe’s shaft and gripping his testicles.

‘Rafe…’ Sam groaned into his skin, trying and kind of failing to halt his grinding. ‘How you wanna do this?’  
Rafe wasn’t sure he would be able to answer any time soon. He was too pre-occupied with the way Sam rolled his balls between his fingers softly. Too focused on the way those same clever fingers went back up maddeningly slow and barely there, circling the head. Too engrossed in the shiver inducing movement of thumb over his slit.

‘Rafe,’ Sam tried again and he sounded like he was dying. ‘How do you wanna come?’  
Rafe massaged the muscles under his fingers, turning his head back, lips kissing wherever he reached. Sam’s free hand found his face and guided their lips together into a sloppy kiss.  
It was all bad angles and tongue and spit, but Rafe couldn’t care less. It felt like heaven.

‘Preferably— ‘ Rafe keened as fingers closed around the base of his erection. ‘Preferably with you balls deep—’ and again, ‘—in me, but I’m not sure we—’

Sam’s cry of ‘Oh, jesus, Rafe!’ halted any further attempts at talking. He let go of Rafe as if burned and scampered off the bed. Rafe wondered what he did or said wrong, but then Sam went for his bag and stepped back to the bed after some rummaging, both hands full.

‘Why do you have a packet of condoms and a half used bottle of lube in your overnight bag?’  
‘Well…’  
‘Samuel…’  
‘You might have been right and I’m maybe a bit paranoid about this whole thing? And I might have packed some supplies in case your mother went through our things in search of some proof that we are not actually going out?’  
‘Oh, thank god for that,’ Rafe laughed. Who knew Sam’s irrational fear would be helpful. ‘Get back here and fuck me already.’

‘Your wish is my command.’  
‘That was more a command than a wish, Sam,’ Rafe corrected, as he flipped onto his belly.  
‘Shush, or I’m gonna cum all over your ass and leave you here…’  
Sam’s voice was full of laughter and arousal, so Rafe did not for a second believe that to be true. Although a shiver ran through his body at the prospect, but he shelved that away for a later date to think about.

‘Or maybe you would like that?’  
‘Let’s talk about our kinks later and maybe concentrate on fucking me into the mattress, hm?’ Rafe suggested, lifting his hips as Sam draped himself halfway over his back.  
‘So bossy,’ Sam murmured into his ear, licking up the shell. There was a pop.  
‘No offence, but what did you expect?’ Rafe asked with a quirk to his lips. Sam kissed it and in the next second, pushed two lubed fingers into Rafe’s ass. Sam sneaked his free arm under Rafe’s chest, holding them as close together as possible and for some time only the moans and pants and squelches filled the room.

‘Sam, come on— get on with it!’ Sam shivered above him. The fingers vanished, making Rafe clench around nothing. He wanted Sam to sheath himself in one long stroke, but he seemed to take his sweet time rolling on the condom and pushing in the tip as he spread Rafe’s cheeks.

‘Sam…’  
‘God, if you could see yourself…’  
‘Not an— ungh- option right now, so…Samuel…please…’  
‘Alright, okay, I’ve got you-‘ Sam muttered as he sank into Rafe in one agonisingly slow move. ‘Oh my god, Rafe—’

Sam set up a nearly punishing pace, apparently out of patience now and Rafe could not do much but enjoy being pounded through the mattress and try to keep his voice to a minimum. Which, harder than he thought it would be. The mix of Sam’s moans and his arm a possessive vice around his chest made Rafe’s insides clench up with burning want. This won’t last long, he thought, but god, will it be worth it.

Sam kept his rhythm unfaltering, Rafe’s moans in perfect sync with it. He really hoped he wasn’t too loud, but he also couldn’t care any less. The only thing he cared about was the coiling heat in his belly and the cock in his ass. After all the loneliness and bad partners and work and stress this was pure bliss and Rafe did not want it to end.

His body had other thoughts though, his hips coming up to meet Sam halfway. Sam’s pace faltered for a second.  
‘Jesus, Rafe…’ Sam panted at his ear, his thrusts quickening. ‘I think…I’m getting close…’  
Rafe barely uttered out a ‘me too’ when Sam stopped for a moment, rolling them on their sides and pulling Rafe’s thigh over his own.

One hand turned their faces towards each other while the other pumped Rafe in time with the brutal thrusts. Sam licked into his mouth so sloppily, that Rafe could barely even call it a kiss. Not that it mattered. Rafe was close, so close.

‘Rafe, fuck. You feel so fuckin’ good, I can’t–’ Sam rolled into him a few more times before he nearly flipped them over with a last thrust and a guttural groan as he came. He never really stilled though, lazily fucking up into Rafe as his hand worked him without any intention of stopping. ‘Oh, god…Rafe, babe come on, I’ve got you. I wanna see you cum,’ Sam panted into the crook of Rafe’s neck, eyes glued to his hand moving up and down.

‘Come for me, Rafe,’ he said and bit down, and Rafe could not help it, but do as asked, a sob ripping from his throat and cum spilling over his stomach and Sam’s hand.

Sam slowly pulled out, but none of them made a move to untangle themselves from the other. Rafe couldn’t be more happy. He was wrung out on all possible fronts and although getting rid of the sweat cooling over his skin and all the other questionable fluids did sound good, he would not exchange Sam spooning him for cleaning up. At least for the minute.

‘Do you think they heard that…?’ Rafe asked, voice a tad strained as he clutched at the arm hugging his chest with a content sigh.  
‘Ehhh,’ was Sam’s answer as he moved in impossibly close, bodies touching from head to toe, and buried his face into Rafe’s nape.

None of them made it to the bathroom in the end.

By the time they traipsed downstairs later the next morning, mostly clean and fresh, and certainly happy, Celia was already packing her suitcase into her car in front of the house.

‘Mother? Leaving already?’  
‘Sweetie, yes. Next week is going to be utter chaos and I promised your father a lunch-date, before we both lose our respective minds in the grind come Monday,’ she said, petting his son’s hand. She stepped up to Sam. “Hope you did not regret accepting this invitation, Samuel.’  
‘Not at all ma’am. Thank you for having me.’  
‘Any time, Samuel, any time.’ Celia squeezed his shoulder, smiling briefly and stepped back to her car. Rafe hugged her, before she could slip into the driver’s seat.  
‘Safe travels, mother. Drop me a text when you get home, okay?’  
‘Of course, sweetie,’ Celia assured as she started up the motor. ‘You too!’

She put the car in gear, ready to drive off, but turned back to his son.  
‘Oh, I almost forgot! I’m happy, that you two made up sweetie. But if you don’t mind, next time, I’d prefer not to listen to it.’

Rafe couldn’t even work his lungs to even get any air into them, let alone let out a mortified shout of ‘Mother!’ that he very much wished to. Instead he stood by the driveway, gaping like a fish, as Celia winked and stepped on the gas, vanishing down the road in a heartbeat.

Sam inched closer, horror plain on his face.  
‘We had a good run. I’m moving to Tibet.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys, hope you enjoyed!   
> I, for one, had a blast writing this despite it being my first fic in the fandom + it taking ages to finish.  
> See you soon!  
> ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

**Author's Note:**

> ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿


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